


courage, teach me to be shy.

by redhoods



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nebulous Timeline, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 09:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18258206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: Rubbing the back of his neck, Fjord turns to Caleb, “What order do you want to tackle all this, Cay?” He asks and gently nudges his shoulder, “Bed, bath, food?”Caleb twirls his finger in the air, “Bath, food, bed,” he says after a beat and Fjord realizes that he’s got Frumpkin around his neck like a scarf again and that Frumpkin is purring away, kneading gently at the shoulder of Caleb’s coat. His nose itches but he holds back a sneeze.





	courage, teach me to be shy.

**Author's Note:**

> listen, _listen_. 
> 
> don't look at me. i know, this is my second fic posted in less than twenty-four hours, _i know_.
> 
> this is just self indulgent softness and hair washing and... i think i saw something about this on twitter but i can't remember now.
> 
> i'm like full to the brim with widofjord ideas if that weren't already obvious.
> 
> uhhh, title is from cannonball by damien rice.

There’s a moment of silence in the clearing, broken only by the crackle of flames as they burn one of the spider bodies to ash and his own labored breathing. Fjord’s grip on his falchion slackens out of sheer relief and somewhere between his hand and the floor of the cavern, it shunts off into whatever pocket of extraplanary space it lives in.

He whirls then, instinct and concern kicking in, while the blood continues to rush through his ears.

Caleb’s still slumped down the far cavern wall, one hand pressing to his stomach and the other held out in the direction of the now smoldering corpses. His eyes are glassy, but present, and Fjord takes long strides to him.

He sinks to one knee in front of Caleb, wrapping his fingers around Caleb’s wrist and gently lowering his hand back down to his lap, “Caleb, you with me?”

The breath that Caleb takes rattles hard in his chest but he nods, “Ja, ja, I’m here,” he says, voice croaking. He coughs and there’s a splatter of blood on his lips. Fjord swears colorfully in a way that makes Caleb’s lips curl up just at the edges, but Fjord ignores that in favor and shoving a hand into the bag of holding.

They’ve got one healing potion left between the two of them and a hike to get to the nearest town where they’re supposed to regrouping with the others. Caleb tries to bat him away, but hasn’t really got the energy to put a real fight into it, so Fjord dumps the contents of the bottle down his throat and drops the empty bottle back into the bag. It takes a few seconds, but he watches a cut on Caleb’s cheek seal itself together and feels minutely better.

“We should get out of here before more of those things come wandering out,” he suggests, even though they could both probably do with a rest. He’s tapped out on magic, though he’s sure Caleb’s got far more left in him, but that’s nothing new for them.

Caleb nods and tries to push himself up, manages to slide himself halfway up the wall before he stops and sways like he’s drunk and not exhausted and hurt. The soft wounded sound though, Fjord realizes, comes from his own chest and he steps forward to slide his arm under Caleb’s, taking some of his weight.

It takes adjusting to get them both comfortable to move more than just shuffling their feet, but they exit the cavern they’d been hoping to rest in and step back into the cool night air.

\-----

After they’ve put some distance between themselves and the cavern, Caleb snaps his fingers and Frumpkin appears before them in the grass in a familiar _puff!_ of arcane energy. “He can be our scout,” Caleb says, the words nearly pressed into Fjord’s clavicle where he’s slumped to in their movements and Frumpkin slinks ahead of them through the trees.

Fjord doesn’t comment, merely adjusts his grip on Caleb and keeps moving. He doesn’t have Caleb’s sharp mind, isn’t quite as good at navigating as the others seem to think he should be, so he can’t even begin to guess how much further they have to go. It’s only because of Caleb’s uncanny ability to point out north that he feels any confidence in the direction they’re moving in.

A twig snaps ahead of them and they both still.

Caleb’s fingers go tight around the back piece of his armor and Fjord watches the way his eyes take on the blue glow that means he’s in Frumpkin. There’s an amused huff from Caleb and he blinks his eyes back to their normal crystalline blue, “A deer.”

Scoffing at their combined jumpiness, Fjord nods and they keep moving.

\-----

Fjord doesn’t ask how much time has passed when they break out of the tree line and the town is right there, sprawling and inviting and bigger than he expected. 

The sun is only just disappearing though, so it can’t be too late.

The two of them must make for a sight as they hobble through the town, Frumpkin much closer to them now that there’s people passing them by, but they don’t receive too many strange looks. Fjord catches an older gentleman at one point to inquire about an inn and gets a vague direction before they carry on shuffling.

A wall of warmth brushes over them both when they open the door to the inn and there’s a lull chatter, people scattered about with plates of food and tankards of ale and Fjord’s stomach gurgles at the thought as he steers them towards the bar.

He carefully deposits Caleb on a stool and leans next to him to flag down the bartender.

It’s an older halfling woman who squints at the both of them before clicking her tongue, “Aren’t you two a right mess?”

Fjord huffs out a sheepish sound, “Ran into some awfully big spiders in the forest,” and then tacks on a, “ma’am.”

She clicks her tongue at him again, “None of that, call me Bertie. We can I do for you boys?”

“We were hoping for a room and some food,” Fjord answers and glances over to make sure Caleb’s upright. His eyes are still a little glassy, but open, even as he lists forward against the bar.

Bertie nods, “I can certainly help you there,” she shuffles around and produces a key that she holds just out of his reach, “A gold piece will get you a room, dinner, and breakfast for you and your man.”

Fjord doesn’t bother correcting her, simply hands over three gold. 

There’s a beat where Bertie squints at him and then the gold before she disappears the three pieces and slides the key across to him with a crooked grin. She leans in then, close like she’s about to divulge a secret, “There’s a pretty nice bathhouse around the corner, got private baths and everything,” she winks at him and then shuffles down the bar to deal with another patron who’s been gesturing at her with an empty tankard.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Fjord turns to Caleb, “What order do you want to tackle all this, Cay?” He asks and gently nudges his shoulder, “Bed, bath, food?”

Caleb twirls his finger in the air, “Bath, food, bed,” he says after a beat and Fjord realizes that he’s got Frumpkin around his neck like a scarf again and that Frumpkin is purring away, kneading gently at the shoulder of Caleb’s coat. His nose itches but he holds back a sneeze.

“Maybe in the morning, we’ll be able to find an alchemist with some healing potions,” he says hopefully as he tucks his arm around Caleb and hauls him back up off the stool.

“Ja, if our luck turns around,” Caleb agrees, once they’re outside of the tavern.

\-----

It takes a bit of exploring to find the bathhouse, but it’s thankfully open when they shuffle in, a bored looking half elf posted up behind the counter when they approach. They sit up and take the two of them in with mild curiosity, “Three silver per for the public baths, eight silver for a private for the both of you,” then after a second of regarding them, “Three more silver’ll get your clothes cleaned.”

Fjord dumps a few gold on the counter, ignoring Caleb’s stilted protest, “We’ll take the private bath and clothes washing,” he answers. 

The elf nods and sweeps the gold off into a pouch before tilting their head towards the door, “Follow me.”

They slide through the door and pass a few closed doors, before pausing outside one and twisting the dial on the lantern next to the door, causing it to flare to life, “You’ve got as much time as you’d like, put your clothes in the basket and sit it outside the door to be cleaned,” they rattle off with dull familiarity and push the door open.

“Thanks muchly,” Fjord tells them, shuffling he and Caleb into the room and nudging the door gently closed behind them.

Once the door is closed, Caleb snaps and Frumpkin disappears back into his pocket dimension and Fjord leaves him to sink onto one of the two chairs in the room to explore their private room.

It’s larger than he’d expected it to be, with a sizeable bath towards the far wall. There’s steam rising off the water and he’s already desperate to sink into it. There’s also a small assortment of bottles and soaps and cleans rags on a little bench next to the bath and he’s interested in those as well.

Just next to the bath, there’s a dip in the ground with a grate in it and a bucket that’s undoubtedly meant for patrons to rinse off the worst of their dirt before they step in the bath itself. He thinks he and Caleb will both need that. When he turns back to look at Caleb, Caleb’s halfway to undressed already, coat folded over the back of the chair and his holsters and books carefully laid in the chair while he wrestles his shirt over his head.

“Here,” Fjord offers quietly and steps closer, helping Caleb ease the shirt off. Now that he’s up close, he can see the mottled bruising over Caleb’s torso and winces in sympathy, glad he’d had that potion left, so he’s sure Caleb’s not at risk of keeling over on him from internal bleeding.

Caleb offers him a half there smile and dumps the shirt into the basket by the door before moving on to his trousers and Fjord realizes he’s several steps behind.

His muscles ache in protest as he starts working on the clasps of his armor, but eventually the breastplate slides off and he props it against the far wall, adding his boots and the other pieces of leather to the pile. He shucks his shirt into the bucket and is undoing the laces of his breeches when he hears soft splashing and turns to find the long line of Caleb’s naked back as Caleb stands over the grate, pouring a bucket of water over himself.

He stares for a beat, then two, before shucking the rest of his clothes into the basket. He doesn’t bother with a towel, just opens the door enough to push the basket into the hallway before retreating into the room and shutting the door. After a brief moment, he slides the latch into place and then turns. 

Caleb is still standing on the grate, but his movements are stilted as he works to rinse himself with the bucket and Fjord clothes the space.

There’s no sense of modesty in the group any longer, but somehow this feels different, maybe it’s because it’s just the two of them or something else, but Caleb doesn’t protest as Fjord takes the bucket from him, “Let me help,” Fjord says into the quiet space.

He waits until he gets a nod of assent and scoops some of the warm water from the bath. Turning back, he carefully tips water over Caleb’s shoulders, letting Caleb sluice off the layer of dirt and mud and grime that’s accumulated. He scoops another bucket of water and turns his finger at Caleb, “Tip your head back and I’ll rinse your hair.” 

He’s very careful as he pours water over Caleb’s head, using his fingers to gently scrape the worst of the grime from Caleb’s hair and studiously ignores the quiet groan that Caleb lets out. “Alright, you should be good,” he tells him and gently nudges Caleb in the direction of the bath.

There’s no need to tell Caleb twice, he immediately steps down onto the ledge in the bath and sinks like a stone right into the water, all the way up to his chin with another quiet groan.

Fjord’s far more methodical and brusque with himself as he rinses the worst of his own dirt off, quiet as he replaces the bucket and sinks into the water himself.

It’s warm and heavenly and all his muscles immediately start to relax.

Caleb seems barely awake across from him, head tipped back against the side of the bath, simply basking in the warm water, so Fjord leaves him to it, instead inspecting the lines of soap.

A few make his nose twitch, one actually prompting a sneeze that startles a laugh out of Caleb behind him, and one that reminds him of Molly with an aching sort of familiarity. He settles on a more neutral one and sets about scrubbing himself clean.

Fingers against his shoulder startle him, though he carefully doesn’t jerk, not wanting to accidentally jostle Caleb, “Yeah?”

“Hand me that,” Caleb’s voice is low and quiet in the room, an almost rumble of sound and Fjord wordlessly hands over the soap and doesn’t look. There’s a second where he’s not sure what’s happening and then warming fingers slide over his back, slippery with soap, and Fjord swallows back a groan as Caleb presses his thumbs into the space between his shoulders.

Caleb is thorough with this like he is with everything he puts his focus into, his hands making broad sweeps over Fjord’s back, fingers digging into the knots that have formed with gentle pressure. Fjord feels like he’s going to melt into the water as soon as Caleb removes his hands.

He sinks into the water briefly to rinse the soap off and scrubs his claws over his scalp a few times, to make sure he’s gotten it all. When he resurfaces, Caleb’s tilted back against the side of the bath once more, though his eyes are open, just barely.

Fjord slides closer to him, “Your turn,” he says quietly, “I’ll even wash your hair,” he offers.

Even though the water has seemed to loosen Caleb up a bit, his ribs and torso are still a mess of bruises and Fjord can’t imagine it’d be easy for Caleb to wash his own hair like that. Caleb considers him for a quiet minute before nodding and turning to sit sideways on the bench.

Fjord gently tips Caleb’s upper half back, dipping him back into the water almost like a parody of dance partners and gently scrapes his fingers through Caleb’s hair to make sure it’s all wet. Caleb’s hair has gotten pretty long in the time they’ve been travelling together, reaching below his shoulders now. Most of the time, he’s taken to tying it back, but sometime between the fight with the giants that’d split the party and the spiders, he’d lost the tie.

Caleb is quiet while Fjord gets his hair wet and works out the worst of the tangles that he can, still quiet when Fjord lifts him back up and Fjord hides his smile where Caleb can’t see him, “Why don’t you pick your scent?” He suggests, breaking up the calm of the room briefly.

It only takes Caleb a few seconds to peruse the bottles before he returns with one, pressing it into Fjord’s hand before presenting his back once more while Fjord sniffs the contents unabashedly. It’s something herby smelling, but not medicinal, and it’s actually kind of nice. He tips some into his hands and lathers it together.

Quiet resumes in the room while Fjord works the lather through Caleb’s hair, only broken when Fjord starts gently dragging his claws over Caleb’s scalp and using his fingers to comb out Caleb’s hair, drawing out soft little sounds from Caleb.

He’s not even sure Caleb’s aware he’s making the sounds.

It’s strangely soothing though, the process of washing Caleb’s hair, of gently working out the tangles and working away the bulks of the suds with handfuls of water.

He gently coaxes Caleb to tilt back into the water once more, rinsing the soap out of Caleb’s hair with careful drags of his fingers, noting the blissed out expression of Caleb’s face with muted interest as he nudges him back out of the water. “Back too?”

Caleb blinks at him slowly, before nodding, “Ja, bitte, if you don’t mind.”

Fjord nods, “S’why I offered,” he replies quietly and is rewarded by the expanse of Caleb’s back turned to him once more. He’s a little less attentive than he was to Caleb’s hair, but no less gentle, aware of the beating that Caleb’s sustained in the last twelve hours alone.

His back is just as mottled as his front and Fjord wishes Jester or Caduceus were here to heal him up, but they’ll all be together soon hopefully.

Caleb sags against his hands as Fjord works soap into his skin and gently rinses it away before he sinks back against the side of the bath himself, only a little surprised when Caleb tips in against his shoulder.

He thinks he dozes for a bit, though isn’t sure what counts as “a bit” when there’s a tap at the door that he figures must be their clothes. Caleb seems to be on the verge of sleep when Fjord gently nudges him up. “We should head back to the in before we both fall asleep in here,” he says quietly and pushes himself out of the water to fetch them both a towel, leaving Caleb’s by his head outside of the bath.

This time, he wraps his towel around himself before he opens the door and drags their basket of clothes in. The basket is radiating gentle warmth and their pile of clothes smells actually nice for once and he’s strangely looking forward to putting them on.

There’s a gentle slosh of water and when he looks, Caleb’s lifted himself out of the water, dripping on the grate and using the towel to dry his hair.

He swallows back another lazy wave of interest and sets about drying himself off.

It’s quiet as they both dry off and set themselves to rights, though Fjord doesn’t bother putting his armor back on, just wedges what he can into the bag of holding and holds the rest over his arm.

The half elf is at the counter when they pass by and Fjord leaves them another gold before joining Caleb in the chilly, night air.

There’s no real reason for it now, other than maybe staving cold, but Caleb tucks in close, and Fjord doesn’t hesitate to drape his free arm across Caleb’s shoulders as they take their time getting back to the tavern. Fjord is ravenous by the time they walk back into the welcoming warmth and he hears Caleb’s stomach at one point.

Fjord sends Caleb to the tables and approaches the bar with a grateful smile at Bertie, whose gaze sweeps over him before she nods in apparent approval, “We’ll take those meals now, if that’s alright with you.”

Bertie gives him a toothy grin, “I’ll get those over to you two right quick.”

Ducking his head in thanks, Fjord backs off and goes to join Caleb at the table he’s picked, tucked in the back corner. He sinks into the chair and doesn’t pull away when their knees end up pressed together under it, “Food’s coming.”

“Thank you, Fjord,” Caleb doesn’t look up from his book though, finger following his eyes as he reads. Usually, Fjord would give him shit about reading his two copper trashy romances, but he’s not feeling it tonight, too tired, too hungry.

Too tender.

Time lapses again and Fjord isn’t even aware that he’s simply staring at Caleb until he blinks and Bertie’s at his elbow with trays of food, watching him with this tiny little grin that brings heat rushing to his face. Caleb, for his part, seems thankfully unaware of what’s happening until a plate lands next to his elbow.

“You two enjoy,” Bertie says and whisks away, clapping another patron so hard on the back that he jerks and sloshes ale on his table.

Caleb actually closes the book and tucks it away in favor of bringing his plate closer to himself and Nott would be proud of the way he tucks in. 

Similarly, Fjord wastes no time in shoveling food into his mouth. He barely tastes any of it with the way he inhales it all, but what he does taste is pretty good. Comforting in the familiar way that most tavern food is. He’s the first to finish, plate clean when he places his fork down, and he props his chin in his hand, drowsy now that he’s full, and waits for Caleb to finish his own plate.

\-----

They lean against each other on their way up the stairs, barely keeping themselves or each other up right as they go. Fjord feels like he yawns every second step, pressing his knuckles against his mouth, and he’s pretty sure Caleb’s eyes are actually closed by the time they reach the actual floor.

He turns the key in his hand to peer at the number then counts the doors outloud like Caleb does with his coin and they nearly tumble over each other when he draws them to a stop, Caleb’s feet still moving unaware. He huffs a quiet laugh, “Easy, darlin’,” he muffles the words against Caleb’s hair as he slides the key into the lock.

The door swings open without much pressure and if it were another time, Fjord would be more concerned about the single bed in the room, but he hasn’t got it in him as he shuffles them inside. It’s dark in the room but it takes minimal effort from Caleb to light the candle on the bedside table, before he moves away from the bulk of Fjord’s body, carrying forward on whatever reserves of energy he’s got left.

Caleb immediately slumps on the bed while Fjord shuts and locks the door behind them. He places the key on the bedside table and then dumps his armor pieces out of the way with the bag of holding and his pack. When he looks back to the bed, Caleb is listing, eyes closed again, and fondness surges hard and fast in his chest like a tidal wave.

It stays there at the peak instead of cresting as Fjord crosses to the bed and gently pries Caleb’s pack away from him. The movement jostles Caleb back away, but it still takes the both of them to peel Caleb out of his coat and book harness.

Fjord takes extra care with both, placing them on the small table shoved in the opposite corner of the room.

He peels out of his own shirt and boots before approaching the bed once more and finds Caleb curled up on his side, boots and shirt just on the floor next to the bed. Pressing his knuckles against his mouth to suppress a smile, he scoops up the shirt with his free hand and folds it, adding it to the pile of Caleb’s things on the table.

Curling his toes against the wood floor, Fjord turns to look, watching the rise and fall of Caleb’s still purple torso and would bet coin that the man’s already asleep.

There’s not a single part of him that protests as he crosses to the bed and sinks down onto the side opposite Caleb, careful not to jostle him as he leans over to snuff the candle out. It doesn’t take much adjustment for him to get comfortable, as tired as he is, and he drags the blankets up over the both of them.

The bed shifts as soon as the covers are up and Fjord is only a little surprised when warm fingers slide over his middle and then Caleb is tucked against his side, curled almost like Frumpkin towards him, his cheek pillowed on Fjord’s bicep.

Fjord carefully doesn’t breath for what he figures might be a minute, but could be ten seconds or three minutes, until he’s sure Caleb is comfortable and settle, and then blows out deeply. The wave crests and crashes over him, warmth suffusing all the way down to his toes.

Sleep claims him too fast for him to overthink it, but that’s probably for the better, all things considered.

\-----

When Fjord starts to come to, it’s both with the pressing need to piss, but also the fact that he’s being watched. It prickles on the back of his neck as he stretches carefully. At some point in the night, Caleb had moved in the night and is now half sprawled over his chest and Fjord’s pretty sure he’s awake, though he doesn’t open his eyes as he stretches carefully, “Sleep well?” His voice comes out a little hoarse and his breath is terrible and -

“Shhh!”

Fjord’s eyes open then, shock and adrenaline pumping through his veins as he prepares to curl Caleb closer to him and away from whatever danger there is, but when his vision adjusts, it’s Nott.

She’s perched towards the end of the bed, eyes narrowed as she peers at the two of them and just behind her, Jester is standing, hands pressed to her mouth like she’s trying very hard to contain herself. Nott presses a finger to her own mouth and hisses around it, “You’ll wake him up!”

Fjord only nods slowly, feeling his face warm, and purposefully looks away from where Jester looks like she’s about to explode to Caleb.

Caleb’s face is turned towards him, slack with sleep, and he looks much younger, far more peaceful like this, and Fjord knows he’d stay like this for half the day, full bladder be damned. He’s not going to have to though, because Caleb starts shifting, nose scrunching as he drags himself to wakefulness.

There’s a moment, when Caleb’s eyes finally open, stormy blue and grey landing on him and a slight quirk to his lips when he muffles a quiet, “Hallo,” around a yawn that he tucks against Fjord’s chest.

Jester lets loose then with an almighty shriek that has Caleb jerking hard upright, his elbow digging right into Fjord’s gut, who in turn yelps and curves up and nearly takes them both to the floor. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t meant to scare you, you were both just so _cute_ ,” Jester gushes as she bounces closer to the edge of the bed.

And then there’s a hiss from Nott and a quiet, but audible gasp from Jester as they both take in the state of Caleb’s torso, and before he can get his mouth open, Fjord’s got a dagger to his throat and Jester is pressing a hand to Caleb’s bare shoulder.

“Nott, _Nott_ , schatz,” Caleb’s words halt when the symbol on Jester’s hip begins to glow and the energy cascades over Caleb, the bruises ebbing away and leaving pale skin in their wake, “Bitte, put the dagger away. We ran into some very large spiders after the giants and Fjord gave me his last healing potion.”

Fjord doesn’t even try to open his mouth while Nott turns scrutinizing eyes onto him and then ever so slowly withdraws his dagger, “That was very good of you, Fjord,” she says with a sniff and scrambles off the bed to stand next to Jester.

His eyebrows lift towards his hairline and Fjord absently rubs his throat, “You can’t think I’d -” he stops and shakes his head, deciding he doesn’t want to know what Nott would really think of him, much less him _and_ Caleb.

Not that there’s an _and_ there to be had.

Jester curls her fingers around Nott’s shoulder and tugs her towards the door, “We’ll leave you be, everyone else is downstairs having breakfast!” She winks at them and then disappears through the door in a whirl of skirts.

Fjord slumps back against the pillows with a quiet groan.

And Caleb... starts laughing.

Fjord squints at him and Caleb just laughs harder, a little hysterical, cheeks pink.

It takes a minute for Caleb to calm down and then he simples slumps forward, pressing his forehead to Fjord’s bare chest and before Fjord’s really aware he’s doing it, he gently runs his fingers through Caleb’s hair, “You alright?”

“Ja, I’m good,” Caleb lifts his head against, rubbing a hand over his face, “You should have seen the look on your face though.”

Fjord tries to scowl, he really does, but half of Caleb’s face is still sleep creased from where he’d been mashed against Fjord’s chest and Caleb’s _smiling_ , small but present, so he shakes his head with a quiet sigh, “I feel like Nott’s just waiting for an opportunity to take me out.”

Caleb huffs, but doesn’t agree or disagree as he pushes away, standing up from the bed and stretching. He looks much better in the morning light filtering in through the window, bruise free with a full meal and night’s rest under his belt.

That same warm fondness wells up in Fjord’s chest and he stands up as well, trying to figure out where to store it in himself so it doesn’t spill out everywhere.

They get dressed in a weird parody of a routine, gently bumping into each other by the table where Fjord had put all their things and when he’s sitting on the edge of the bed to lace his boots, Caleb’s boots come into his line of sight just between his own feet. He glances up and Caleb is right there, close enough to smell and touch, his gaze heavy on Fjord’s face.

“Thank you,” is all Caleb says and then ducks down and brushes his lips over the side of Fjord’s mouth, where one tusk is just starting to split his lips. Before he can react though, Caleb is whipping around in a whirl of scarf and cloak, heading out the door.

He does pause though, half out the door, looking back, his cheeks so pink, “We’ll talk about this later, ja?”

Fjord nods, a little dumbfounded as the door shuts with a soft click behind Caleb. He has to restart on lacing his boot and it still takes him two tries to get it just right before he can stand and follow behind Caleb, but his chest is full of that warmth and there’s no keeping it contained from here.

He starts down the stairs to join the others and tries, possibly fails miserably, to keep the smile off his face.

**Author's Note:**

> ahem. find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/red_hoodsy) or [tumblr](https://redhoods.tumblr.com).


End file.
